I want to write like a true poet.
I want to feel the ink oozing out of my pen as I scratch at paper.
I want to look back at my writing and feel.
I want to look back and my life and tell myself I lived
And write those experiences down in a poetic way.
I snatch your eyes
and drag them to my direction
leading you into my
aura of purity;
begging you to change my
outlook on love
Lonely nights
take away your soul,
gloomy and sad,
reaching into your chest
and grasping the warmth
that keeps your body
alive.
There’s something about laying under the stars
so late at night
alone
that makes you want to kill yourself.
cloudywithachanceofrayne asked: your poems are incredible. Please keep writing.
Thank you very much! I intend to. :)
My head is spinning, a whirwind of messes arising from the depths of my body,
Awakening new emotions and haunting my insides,
And my heart is in my throat and I’m screaming for you
“Come back! Come back! Come back!”
two.
Who knows what is in store
When he says your name
Or squeezes your hand
Or rests his lips on yours.
Who knows when your sanity
Will return to its normal state
Once he has left your life
Or you have left his.
Who is to say when his smile
Will cease to draw your gaze
Or his words will stop lingering
Over your cold, deprived heart.
one.
Simple and subtle
Yet easy to understand
Just how he’s feeling.
Movement so quick
With his eyes and
Charm that could leave you
Tangled for hours upon end.
He’ll grope you with a smile and
Ease you into a kiss
Making everything inside
Your shallow body wanting
More.
You had asked me
for words.
You had asked me for rhymes
and
fancy scripts
that run from line to line
trying to express an emotion
for you
one that I tried to find.
Ink
I was told to write for you.
You pried at my nimble fingers,
hoping for a words formed into a cliché way of saying how wonderful you are to me.
I sat for hours trying to write something meaningful enough,
but I was stuck, hopelessly waiting for a bubble of emotion to come pouring out of my pen.
Instead, when I put the pen on the soft paper,
nothing but black, shiny ink came out.
No words, no emotions,
just ink.
